


This Okay?

by msred



Series: Lessons [3]
Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, First Time, Flirting, Sleepovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28750569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred
Summary: It's only their second date, but they're six weeks in and it's a week-long date with them sleeping under the same roof. Things are bound to get interesting.
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor) & Original Female Character(s), Chris Evans (Actor)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Lessons [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019040
Comments: 34
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**_Late June, 2019_ **

“Your house is gorgeous,” she tells him sincerely as they finish their informal tour and he hands her the glass he’s just filled from the front of the fridge. It reminds her of a few houses she’d daydreamed over when she was a kid, ones she’d pass on her way to school or to her grandparents’ house, wishing she could be friends with the people who lived there so she could experience the sprawling farmhouses sat atop their own hills, surrounded by more rolling hills and wooden fences to keep in the horses. There are no horses here, and the landscape is different, and she never did make it inside those houses as a kid, so she has no idea if his is like those were on the inside, but it’s still a beautiful sprawling farmhouse, all big windows and light colors and cozy, lived-in warmth. And it may not be a horse farm, but the house sits on a large, relatively secluded piece of land with a huge yard for Dodger, who she’s only just met but already knows has more energy than he knows what to do with, and a gorgeous view of the surrounding woods. 

The interior is lovely too, masculine in a warm, natural, almost raw way, with its mid-century modern furniture and natural wood and neutral colors, the type of masculinity that makes her feel like she’s being safely enveloped, like she’s been invited to share in someone else’s intimate, personal space, not the type that makes her feel like she’s being crushed. It’s completely different from her own rented townhouse in almost every way, and yet she feels completely at home.

"Thanks,” Chris answers with a grin, leading her out of the kitchen with a hand on the small of her back. They move to the living room and settle on the couch in front of the already playing television, a Red Sox game going that he’d wanted to check the score of when they first got back from the airport. “I had just kind of started toying with the idea of buying a place back here, not 100% sure I was ready to commit, and my realtor brought me out here just to give me an idea of the kind of thing I could expect to find on the market and I fell in love. It just felt like home.”

She takes a long drink of her water then leans forward to set the half-full glass on the coffee table. When she sits back she turns sideways a little so she can face him and, after noting his own feet propped on the coffee table, pulls her legs up to tuck her socked feet under her butt and shift her weight onto her hip, one elbow resting on the back of the couch, head falling into her hand, and the other arm falling to her side where her hand curls around her ankle. “Is it like the house you grew up in, then? That was nearby, right?”

"It was, not too far from here at all. But no, the houses themselves aren’t really similar. That one was,” he trails off, lips pursed and brows a little furrowed like he’s thinking until he finally shrugs, “well, you’ll see it. Ma and Carly and her family still live there, that’s where we’re going for the Fourth. So I mean, this house didn’t remind me of that one, it just,” he shrugs again, a little sheepish, “I got a feeling.”

She swivels her head to take in some of the details of the room, the obviously high quality fabrics and materials, the minimal but thoughtful trinkets and decorative items adorning various surfaces, the simple and clearly not mass produced artwork. And sure, none of those things are the house itself, but it all works together, really, his chosen furniture and decor, right along with the warm wood floors and white wood-slatted walls and exposed brick fireplaces. “I see that,” she agrees, nodding. “It suits you.”

"You know,” he grins, “I’m gonna take that as a compliment.” She smiles back and even blushes a little. He can’t help but lean across the space between them and kiss her quickly on the lips. “This area has always been home, you know? Finding this place and setting it up really just cemented that.”

She hopes he can’t see evidence of the pang that goes through her. She’s never had that, that sense of home, of comfort and belonging. Her hometown wasn’t terrible, exactly; there are definitely worse places to have grown up. But it wasn’t _her_ . The fact that she so willingly followed a boyfriend several hundred miles for college was evidence of that, especially when she knew even at the time that the relationship wasn’t for the long haul. It was just a convenient reason for her to start looking at out of state schools. And she likes where she lives now. She loves her job, and there’s a lot of hiking and some decent beaches, both activities that rank very high on her list of ways to kill free time, and it’s not too terrible a drive to Richmond, when she wants to get a girlfriend or two together and do the downtown thing for a weekend. Her townhouse is small but comfortable, finally furnished and decorated in a way that reflects her tastes and her interests - soft fabrics and surfaces, personal touches more than art, books at every turn - after years of buying one or two really good items at a time. But it still doesn’t feel like _home_ , not in the way he’d just described at least. 

So she doesn’t change the subject, exactly, but she does give it a nudge in a slightly different direction. “It must be really nice, then, getting to work so close to home for a while.”

He sighs contentedly and drops his head back against the couch cushion, letting it roll over so that he can look at her. “It really, really is. I mean, I got to work near here last fall for a couple months, on _Knives Out_ , a movie that’s coming out this fall, but this, this is several months, over half a year, of working on the same project and coming home to my own bed every night.” He rolls his eyes a little and sits back up, dropping his arm along the back of the couch alongside hers and toying with the cap sleeve of her t-shirt with his fingertips. “Well, not _every_ night. We will be doing a short stint on location toward the end of the shoot.”

“Oh, right,” she nods, “Jamaica.”

"Well,” he draws out the word and makes a show of diverting his eyes down and to the side, toward the floor in front of the couch. He then heaves out a heavy breath. “Mexico, actually. But!” He goes on quickly, curling his hand around her shoulder and holding his other hand up, palm out toward her, in a submissive gesture. “That was purely a financial and logistical decision, not a plot-related one.” 

She narrows her eyes and smirks at him. They’ve talked about this before, her reticence toward any book-to-screen adaptation and the changes that are inevitably made in the process. They’ve also talked about her faith in him, as an actor and now producer, and even just as someone who respects others’ work enough to make sure it’s going to be done right. “Hm, I guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” she teases.

She read the book last summer, one of many in her yearly blitz to do as much fiction reading, as much reading for pleasure, as she can while school’s out, since she’s far more limited by time to reading for professional purposes from September through May. While she’d enjoyed the story overall, the mystery elements and twists and turns and constant second-guessing, she had found a few things that she didn’t love and wouldn’t have minded being changed. They’ve talked about it, she’s been vocal about her opinions (she always is, when it comes to books, it’s one of her favorite things to talk about, actually), and he’s participated in those conversations as much as possible without telling her anything he’s not allowed to share. The conversations were serious, thoughtful, in the beginning, the way she almost can’t help but be when dissecting stories, but over time it’s become fodder for teasing.

He nods, and she can’t help but notice that his mood seems suddenly a bit more solemn, or at least serious, than it was before. She tilts her head a little to one side and wonders to herself if she should ask if something’s wrong. It’s tough, still being so early in their … whatever this is. It’s fun, the flirting and discovering and newness of it all, the butterflies and anticipation of every new, exciting moment, but it’s also a little stressful at times, not always knowing exactly how to respond to things, what to say and when, because they don’t know each other that deeply just yet and they haven’t really set parameters for where they stand, even if there is a comfort level that she hasn’t experienced with anyone else, well, almost ever.

Chris doesn’t let her stress very long. “Um, there was actually something else, about _Defending Jacob,_ that I’ve been meaning to kind of give you a heads up about.”

"Uh oh,” she keeps her voice light, “what have you changed?” 

He gives her a small smile and shakes his head. “Not a change. But, uh,” he looks almost uncomfortable and she feels bad, feels a need to soothe and comfort. She lifts her head off her hand and drops her arm so that it sort of lays over his and she can trace her fingertips lightly over his shoulder. He looks down at her hand and smiles, leaning down to quickly drop a kiss to one knuckle. “So,” he takes a deep breath, almost like he’s steeling himself, “obviously Andy and Laurie are married, and I know the book implies the intimacy that comes along with that, but we …”

Oh. _Oh_. Well, he’s wasting no time here, is he? No wonder he’d seemed so touchy about bringing it up. She can’t imagine it’s easy for him, presenting this topic to someone he’s just started seeing, coincidentally at the same time that he’s working on the show. It would probably be easier, more comfortable for him, if she were in the business too, but she’s not. And she doesn’t even really know what they _are_ yet. Technically speaking, their double date later tonight with his sister and her boyfriend will only be their second date, so does he think of her as his girlfriend? She wouldn’t be surprised or offended if he doesn’t. And - yeah. There are just a lot of factors at play here and she actually feels kind of bad for him that he’s the one who has to work through it all. 

"Right,” she says softly and, she hopes, kindly. “You guys make it more explicit, rather than implicit.”

Chris flinches a little at the word ‘explicit.’ He’s pretty sure she’s using it in the English teacher way and not in the MPAA ratings way, but he still hates the way it sounds in the context of this conversation. “I mean, it won’t be graphic, nothing you couldn’t see on regular network television, but yeah. We’re going farther than the book does.”

She nods then, and he thinks she might be chewing a little on the inside of her lip. He doesn’t know what that means. “You haven’t shot it yet?”

"No,” he shakes his head, “and it won’t even air until next spring. I just …” he sighs, this is why he’s generally stuck to dating within his own industry. She hasn’t done anything wrong, and so far she hasn’t given him any indication that this is going to be a problem for them. And it’s not like it’s her _fault_ that this is part of his career and it’s very much not part of hers; it just is what it is. It’s maybe a little her fault that he likes her so much that he’s willing to ignore his previously established self-imposed guidelines against dating non-actors, but it’s not like that’s something to hold against her. 

“I wanted to tell you now, before anything has actually happened. The thing is, I know that you’re rational and crazy smart and that you know, intellectually, that what you see on screen is choreographed and rehearsed and not at all sexy when it’s happening in real life,” he’s not placating or patronizing her, they’ve actually had this conversation before, in a very hypothetical, non-specific sense, before everything was ironed out with the plans for _Defending Jacob_ and he knew they were going to have to talk about it in a real sense so soon. “But I also know that knowing these things in your brain and then actually dealing with the emotional ramifications of them aren’t always the same, and since this isn’t a regular part of your life like it is mine, I just want to be as up front with you about everything as possible. I don’t want you to feel like you’ve been blindsided, or like I’m keeping things from you.”

She’s quiet, eyes wide and blinking slowly as she nods. It’s a lot for her to think about. It’s not even the fact that he’s going to be shooting a sex scene, pretty soon, from the sounds of it. She hadn’t been expecting it, but it isn’t exactly a surprise, either. Look at him, of _course_ they’re going to work in a sex scene; just because he hasn’t had a role that required that of him in a while - poor Steve Rogers never did get much action - doesn’t mean she should have thought it would never happen. So yeah, it’s a little bit of a surprise, a little more than she was expecting to be confronted with so soon, but that’s not what has her mind spinning in overdrive. No, that honor goes to the fact that he’s taken it upon himself to give her fair warning about a scene that hasn’t even been filmed yet and that won’t air for almost a _year_. He’s concerned about what she’s going to think about something she’ll see him in roughly 10 or so months from now. 

She likes him. A lot. A bit more every time they talk, really. And despite anything she ever would have believed before they met in Boston six weeks or so ago, she thinks they’ve really connected on a lot of levels. She hasn’t thought too far into the future though, because she hasn’t allowed herself to, still not ready to fall into the trap of thinking this might be _something_ only to get disappointed when it isn’t. But if he’s thinking that way, and apparently he is, well then that’s a different story. And if this _is_ going to be _something_ , 10 months from now and beyond, she’s going to have to be okay with him, well, doing his job. And she can be. She thinks she can be. Like he said, her rational side knows that shooting an intimate scene is not actually being intimate. She’ll just have to make sure her rational side wins out over her anxiety.

"Thank you for telling me,” she finally says. “Really, your honesty and forthrightness means a lot.” He looks like he’s waiting for the _but_ , so she goes on quickly, hoping she’ll be able to piece her thoughts together eloquently enough as she goes. “And you’re right, my brain does understand the difference. I know this is part of your job and that performing for the cameras isn’t actually being intimate with someone.” The slow, deliberate way he exhales shows her that he’s relieved by her response, which just adds to that warm, happy feeling she already had. “As far as the emotional aspects, well, I’m glad this isn’t something I have to deal with tomorrow,” his face falls again just a little, his bottom lip catching between his teeth, so she lifts her hand from her own ankle to rest softly in the center of his chest, her thumb rubbing over his t-shirt, “but I’ll get there.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. “Yeah. It’s something that’s totally new to me, obviously, but I’ll get there.” She’ll have to, she’ll force herself to. If he still wants her around when he films this scene and then when it comes time for her to actually see it, she’s not going to let this get in the way of that. She’ll be insecure, she knows that, but there’s no way she’ll let her insecurity stop her from continuing whatever this is, not when she knows, logically, that there’s not actually any reason to worry. Besides, if this is still a thing between them in 10 months, she would like to think that some of that insecurity will have been worn away.

He mirrors her, nodding along and rubbing small circles over the back of her shoulder with his fingertips. “The shooting schedule isn’t set in stone yet, but if you want, if it will make it easier in any way, I can bring you back up and you can be on-set. I mean,” he shrugs, his shoulders pulling in tight around his ears, and pulls a face that’s almost a grimace, “I don’t know if Michelle would be comfortable with you actually being _there_ , and of course respect and comfort has to be the absolute first priority. But you could be on-site, maybe hang out in my trailer, or with the PAs, and then I can come say hi when we’re done, let you know how things are going. Whatever you want, if you think it’ll help.”

She doesn’t mean to, but she lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. He sits up a little straighter, head going back a bit like he’s startled. She just shakes her head and gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “I can be okay with knowing you have to do that as part of your job. And when the time comes, I’ll be okay seeing it on screen. As far as being present when it’s happening, let’s not push our luck.”

Chris bites back his laugh, only because he’s not sure how she’d respond to that. He doesn’t want her to think he’s laughing _at_ her. It’s just cute, that’s all. And honestly, he’s probably a little giddy that she seems so set on making this work, even though he knows it has to be miles outside her comfort zone. He’s not going to do anything that might jeopardize that. So all he says is, “Noted,” before closing his hand around her shoulder to pull her close. 

They’re getting better, more comfortable, with the whole ‘unannounced kissing’ thing, especially after he hadn’t been able to resist leaning across the console to press his lips to hers the second they were both in the car outside the airport. This time, her eyes flutter closed as he leans in, like she knows what he’s doing and welcomes it. He goes straight for her bottom lip, closing both of his around it and sucking lightly as his hand slips under her hair and up the back of her neck. A low, sweet noise comes up from the back of her throat, spurring him on to tease at her mouth with his tongue. She opens for him and slides her hand up from the center of his chest to cup his jaw, her fingers sliding into his hair and her thumb drifting in a soft arc in front of his ear. 

He pulls back gently before things have a chance to get too heated. She’d announced her ‘no sex on the first date’ stance early on back in D.C., but he doesn’t know exactly where they stand for this trip (except that he’d set her up in a guest room at her request). He’s not going to push it until he knows what she wants, and sitting here on his own couch, just the two of them, it could be way too easy to do just that.

She lets him put just a little bit of space between them before leaning back in for another quick, chaste kiss. They’re both smiling when they pull back, and she sees the flash of guilt when there’s a crowd roar from the television and his eyes dart over to it. Feeling a mischievous tug in her gut, she says with a smirk, “So who are we pulling for again? The Celtics? That’s the baseball team here, right?”

The look on his face when he turns to her is just short of horrified, his eyes wide and mouth agape. He blinks at her a couple times before she can’t stand it anymore, a giggle bubbling up out of her. His jaw snaps back up and his eyes narrow and he says, “Trouble. That’s all you are.” She’s laughing when she settles a little deeper into the couch and tucks herself into his side, his hand tugging sharply on a small section of her hair before it drops so that his arm lies across her shoulder.

She was obviously teasing him about not knowing that they’re watching the Red Sox, but she’s actually not a big fan of watching baseball on television. She does like it in person, just not from home. So while he watches the game and she gets more comfortable by the second pressed against his side, she lets her mind wander a little. She can’t stop thinking about the fact that he’d gone out of his way to give her a heads up, to warn her, really, about a sex scene that she’s not going to have to sit through for almost a year. It’s considerate, and respectful, and even revealing, in a way, since it shows that he thinks she’ll have a reason to care about the scene by the time it airs, and that he’ll care how she feels when that time rolls around. And to be perfectly honest, there’s a part of her that now can’t stop just putting _Chris_ and _sex_ together in her brain, envisioning scenarios that are far less professional than the one he’ll be participating in as an actor, and that involve not paid actresses, but herself.

The fact is, she came up here knowing there was a good chance she was going to sleep with him. She didn’t want to sleep with him in D.C. because she wanted to have at least some indication that whatever she was doing with him was going to go beyond that one visit. She can’t honestly say she’s _never_ slept with anyone on the first date before, but he’s not exactly ‘anyone,’ now is he? (And most of those ended soon after and not very well, so whether that was causation or correlation, she wasn’t going to push it.) She doesn’t even necessarily need some promise of something long-term, but she’d wanted to make sure she wasn’t just throwing herself into some sort of celebrity wish fulfillment scenario that she would regret the next day because she tricked herself into thinking it was something it wasn’t. Now though, even if this whole thing does end in a week when she leaves Massachusetts (though she really, really hopes it doesn’t), she at least feels like she has a better grip, mentally, on what they’re doing. Because they’ve been talking and texting pretty much daily since even before their first date, and it’s good. She thinks it’s good, anyway, and she’s pretty sure he feels the same way, if the fact that he’s talking to her in future terms is any indication. So whatever happens now, she at least feels like she’s got her footing, like they’re dealing with something real, even if it ends up not being permanent, and so she’s not going to feel like a fool if she sleeps with him and it does end sooner than she would like.

Chris has turned pretty much his full attention to the game, but she doesn’t feel ignored, his arm holding her close and his fingers drifting mindlessly over her shoulder. She just feels comfortable. Well, not _just_ comfortable …

She leans up and presses her lips to his cheek, just above where his beard begins, and when she pulls back just a couple inches rather than sitting back down against the cushions, tucked into his armpit, like she had been, he turns and smiles at her. He shoots her a wink before kissing the tip of her nose and squeezing her shoulder then turning back toward the television. She leans in for another kiss, just below the corner of his jaw and he sucks in a sharp breath and his fingers dig into her shoulder. She moves maybe half an inch down his neck and presses her lips to the warm, soft skin. “Is this okay?” she whispers, her breath washing warm over his neck.

"Yeah,” he nods almost dumbly, then, more definitively, “yes. Definitely.”

She keeps going, pressing kisses down the line of his pulse. When she gets to the hollow where his neck, shoulder, and collarbone come together, she lets her tongue dart out to dip into it then scrapes her teeth across the ridge of his collarbone where it peeks out of his shirt. 

His hand slides up into her hair, fisting and using his grip to turn her face to his. She barely has a second to catch her breath before his mouth crashes onto hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth. He moans lowly at the same time that she lets out a breathy whimper. He licks slowly through her mouth, confident, wanting, but careful at the same time, pushing things as far as he can without feeling worried that he might be crossing a line.

That possibility, the idea that he might push too hard, ask for something she’s not ready to give, gets completely knocked aside when she pushes herself up onto her knees then swings her body around until she can throw one leg over his lap. She pushes back into the kiss, literally, bringing her palms to the front of his shoulders and pushing him back against the couch as she angles her head to deepen the kiss, and settles on his thighs. His hands fall to her hips and she breaks the kiss, her forehead pressed to his. “Is _this_ okay?” She can feel his chest heaving under her hands as his fingers sink into her flesh through the light-weight joggers she’d worn for the flight. (And he’d looked at her like she was crazy when she’d apologized at the airport for prioritizing comfort over appearance, telling her she looked _cute as hell_ in her athletic pants and slightly fitted v-neck tshirt.) 

“Very, very okay.” In fact, if he were to pull her forward just a little bit, she’d feel exactly how okay it is. He doesn’t though, choosing instead to move at her pace. He does stretch forward to claim her mouth again, pulling a gasp from her as he tugs her bottom lip between his and sucks on it momentarily before doing the same to her tongue when she maneuvers it into his mouth. He can feel her all over, her calves pressing into the outsides of his thighs, her ass warm on his lap, her chest moving to press right up tight against his, her fingers biting into his shoulders through his shirt, then sliding over the sides of his chest and down his ribs. He wants more - he wants _everything_ \- and the way her mouth has started moving across his cheek toward the jaw opposite where she’d started isn’t doing anything to dampen that desire. Just the tips of her fingers slip under the hem of his shirt and settle warm and soft against his skin just above his waistband, shooting a tingle up his spine and making his flesh pucker a little with goosebumps, and at the exact same time, her lips close around his earlobe.

"How about this?” she whispers.

Instead of answering her, he slips his own hands up the back of her shirt, skimming his palms up her back until he hits the band of her bra, then using his fingers to trace the straps up to her shoulders and back down. She shivers, and the second he can no longer feel her breath on his ear he drops his head, latching his mouth onto the soft skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He sucks lightly for just a second then parts his lips and flattens his tongue against her neck, her pulse racing beneath it, before dragging it up and up, until he can press open-mouthed kisses behind her ear. He scrapes his teeth over the flesh there and she lets out a moan, simultaneously rocking her hips so that she grinds into him, and there’s no way she doesn’t feel him, hard and straining against his jeans. 

She pulls back, and when their eyes meet, hers are dark and wild, pupils dilated and lids heavy and hooded. She opens her mouth to speak and he rushes to cut her off. “Don’t you dare -” _ask if this is okay_ , is how that sentence was meant to end, but he doesn’t get there, because at the exact same moment she says, voice low and breathy -

"Condoms?”

He feels his eyes go wide for just a second and he knows he’s nodding like a fool when he says, “Bedroom, night stand.”

And then she’s shaking her head and he’s confused as hell, because she started this. Didn’t she? He’s positive he’s let her make every first move, and more than that, she’s the one who _just_ asked about condoms. He only gets more confused when she leans back down to sweep her tongue through his mouth and rub her hands over his chest under his shirt. But then she pulls away again and locks their eyes together. “My stuff is closer.”

"I,” _fuck_ , “fuck. Yeah,” he nods again, “okay, yeah.” He starts to scoot forward, toward the edge of the couch, sliding his hands down her back and out of her shirt to curl around the underside of her thighs as he goes. “Hold on, okay?” he murmurs against her lips before kissing her again, and she nods. Her hands slide down his body and out of his shirt, and as soon as he feels her arms wrap around his shoulders he tightens his grip on her thighs and stands.

It’s a really good thing this is his house and he knows it well, because it’s hard for him to see straight, or even keep his eyes open, as he carries her to the guest room with her lips attached to his throat, his jaw, his cheek and ear, her fingers carding through his hair and tugging.

"God baby,” he growls as he practically stumbles into the room, only stopping when he has her pressed between his body and the wall beside the door, her legs still wrapped around his waist, “you’re killin’ me.”

Her head falls back against the wall with a thud when he dips his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat and drags it up to her chin. “Want you so much,” she breathes, and he can’t help the way his hips jut forward or the groan that pushes its way out of his chest when he feels the heat between her legs. “Wanted you last time, just … scared.”

He pulls back at that and looks down at her, his thumbs drawing small circles over the outsides of her legs. “You’re not scared anymore?” She shakes her head and pulls him back in for another kiss. “Promise?” he whispers against her lips.

“Promise.” 

The next kiss is gentler than the last, and her hand slips out of his hair to cup his cheek for a moment before she unwraps the other arm from around his shoulders and brings both hands down to squeeze his wrists. He takes the hint and lets go of her legs, waiting until she’s dropped her feet toward the floor to step back, letting her slide the last few inches down the wall until she’s standing on her own, his hands curled around her hips. “My suitcase,” she trails off and nods toward the other side of the room. Nodding, he takes another step back and lets her pass, turning to watch her as she kneels to dig through her bag. He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. 

There’s a part of her that can’t believe this is actually happening, but for the most part, all she can think about is how excited she is, how much she _wants, wants, wants_. She also feels bold, all of a sudden. Not that she’d been timid when she climbed into his lap and ran her hands up his shirt, but the way he’s reacted to her since has emboldened her even more. When she finally finds what she’s looking for, the make-up bag she’d used as a carrying case having shifted in her suitcase, she grabs several in her fist without really looking and stands, spinning on her heel with a triumphant smirk. She tosses the condoms, six or seven, probably, all in different foil wrappers, onto the bed next to him.

He runs his hand over them, spreading them out and flipping over a couple that landed upside down. If she blushes when he looks up at her with one eyebrow quirked, it’s out of desire and arousal, not embarrassment. “Yeah,” she lifts one shoulder, “I’m pretty sure the cashier at the pharmacy thought I was either a sex worker or a sex club owner.” He barks out a short laugh as he picks up the condoms one-by-one, reading the writing on each before transferring it to his opposite palm. Watching him, she takes a couple steps forward, until she’s standing right in front of his knees and trailing her fingers lightly down the side of his neck. “I wasn’t sure about size, or if you have any allergies,” he’s looking at the last two at once, one neon and glow-in-the-dark, the other strawberry flavored, “and some were just for fun.” She winks when he looks up at her from under his brow without lifting his head.

A quiet scoff escapes him, a match for the smirk pulling at his lips. Finally he reaches to open the top drawer of the nightstand by the bed and drops in the two ‘just-for-fun’ condoms he’d just been studying. He sorts through the ones in his other hand, picking one and dropping it onto the top of the nightstand then dropping the rest into the drawer with the first two and closing the drawer. As he turns to look up at her, his hands come up to the outsides of her thighs, and when they make eye contact again, his head tilted back slightly and his hands skimming up and over her hips, not slipping under her shirt this time but dragging it along with them, his eyes are dark.

Up, up, up, his hands go, pushing her shirt along and baring more and more of her skin to him. His eyes stay locked on hers as he leans in closer then flutter closed when his lips finally meet the sensitive skin on her stomach. His beard tickles as he kisses right up the center of her body, following just a couple inches behind the hem of her shirt - from just above her belly button to between her ribs to the valley of her breasts where the cups of her bra meet in a _V_ , to her collarbone as he stands, pulling the shirt over her head and up and off her arms where she has them lifted straight up in the air. When he’s tossed the garment aside he cradles her whole face in his big hands and leans down for another kiss, slow and languid and sensual and stoking the fire sparking to life in her belly. 

And because she can’t be the only one who’s topless, she grabs his shirt at either side and starts to lift. He pulls away to help her, grabbing the hem and yanking it over his head then tossing it somewhere in the same direction that he threw hers. Instead of leaning back down to kiss her again, his hands go to her hips and he turns them so that she’s got her back to the bed then pushes her, gently, until the backs of her knees hit the mattress and she drops down onto it on her butt. He bends, hovering over her as his hands go to the clasp of her bra, and he lets his lips brush over hers when he asks, “Can we take this off too?” She nods, leaning back into one hand and bringing the other up to curl around the back of his neck as she licks teasingly at his lips while he deftly unhooks the bra.

He curls his hands around her ribs where the band of her bra now hangs limply and urges her back even farther, until she’s lying on her back, her feet still dangling over the floor. His thumbs drift over the sides of her breasts for just a second, then feather-light fingers are slipping bra straps off her shoulders and down her arms. “Fuck,” he breathes, “look at you.” And that’s exactly what he does, his eyes raking over her breasts, of course, but then farther down her body, taking in the two tattoos on her torso, one on her ribs on her left side and one low on her right hip, just peeking out from under the waistband of her pants, mirroring the locations of a couple of his own. He’s not going to ask now, because he has other business to tend to, but he wonders if, like his, they hold some kind of significance to her (the one half-hidden by her pants looks like it’s possibly some kind of bird, so maybe it’s just a bird she likes, or something pretty, but the one on her ribs is a series of words, which feels like it probably means something); it’s a conversation he looks forward to, another thing to learn about her, another connection to make.

Her arms come up to cover herself as his gaze washes over her body, out of reflex, instinct, not an actual desire to hide herself from him, but she catches herself and lets her hands land on his biceps instead when he bends over her and presses his hands into the mattress on either side of her body and lifts one knee to the mattress, nudging her legs a little wider apart. She grins, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth then releasing it slowly. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?” she teases.

His right hand moves, fingers trailing lightly over her ribs before curling around the side of her left breast as his thumb traces slow, ever-smaller circles around her nipple. “I’d rather look at you.” She gasps and her back arches off the bed slightly when he brushes the pad of his thumb over the tightened peak of her nipple. Chris just smirks and leans down to kiss her, sliding his foot back to the floor as he lowers himself to his elbows and bringing his left hand up her side to mirror the actions of the right. “You like that?” he asks against her lips, and she nods desperately, her eyes heavy lidded as she chases his lips when he pulls away a little more. “Good.” He drops, his nose nudging under her chin. When her head falls back, baring her throat to him, he presses kisses under her chin and down the front of her throat, scraping his teeth over the skin every now and then. When he gets to the hollow of her throat he sucks at the ridge of her collarbone then rests his chin on her bare chest, his fingers still ghosting over her breasts and his chest pressing lightly against her stomach. It can’t be comfortable, the way his large frame is draped over her body and the mattress, feet on the floor and his knees probably bent awkwardly to keep the majority of his upper body on the bed, but he looks far from complaining, fully intent on keeping his attention focused on her. “You gotta let me know what you like, okay baby?” She nods again and finds his hair with her fingers when, without warning, he closes his lips around one of her nipples.

She can feel him smirking against her skin as she arches into his mouth and writhes a little on the mattress, her movements restricted by the partial weight of his body on hers. He works her nipple over thoroughly with his mouth - his tongue flattened and swirling, then flicking rhythmically, lips sucking and pulling - and when he finally releases it he moves across her body, leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake, and does the same thing to the other nipple. His beard tickles and scratches at her soft, overly sensitive skin. She’s actually never been with a man with a full beard before, she realizes as her brain flits almost deliriously from one thought to another. Sure, she’s felt the sandpaper burn of stubble plenty of times, but nothing like this, the hair thick and full and long enough to be almost soft. The added sensation certainly isn’t unpleasant, and she can’t help but wonder how it might feel on other, even more sensitive, parts of her body. She moans quietly at the thought, her hand tightening in his hair as she pushes her chest up, as if he doesn’t already have much of her breast in his mouth. He just chuckles, the vibration sending a chill down her spine, and pulls off her with a _pop_.

Then, as if he’d just read her mind, he looks up at her from under his brow as she settles back onto the mattress, and says, “Can I taste you?” his hands sliding down her sides so that his fingers can tuck into the wide elastic band of her pants. 

She moans again, louder this time, and answers, “Oh god yes, please,” and her hips rock up against his body.

A self-satisfied smirk takes over that handsome face and he says, “Well, I guess I already figured out _one_ thing you like.” She can feel the blush that spreads across her chest and up her neck onto her cheeks. “Hey,” he presses a kiss high on her stomach, between her ribs, “don’t be embarrassed. I can’t fuckin’ _wait_ to get my mouth on you.”

She gives his hair one more tug before dropping her hands to her sides on the mattress. “God,” she says, her head rolling a little to one side so she can look down at him, watching as her hand slides across the comforter to find his shoulder and trace patterns with her fingertips, “you’re going to ruin me, aren’t you?”

He huffs out a soft laugh and draws his tongue from just above her belly button up several inches, blowing along the line of wetness he leaves behind and making her shiver. “I really fuckin’ hope so.”


	2. Chapter 2

An indeterminate amount of time - it could be 20 minutes or two hours - and five orgasms - one for him and four for her (yes, four, their first time together, he’s just that good) - later, they’re standing together in the guest room’s en suite. “There are wipes in the top drawer,” he nods a little toward the far side of the vanity as he rolls the condom off and drops it carefully into the trash can, holding back the swinging lid with his free hand so that the condom doesn’t hit it on the way down.

"Wipes, huh?” she smirks a little over at him even as she opens the drawer and pulls out the package, opening it and setting it on the counter after pulling one out to wipe the sticky wetness, the remnants of her arousal and pleasure, from the insides of her thighs and between her legs.

"Okay, don’t get any crazy ideas.” He reaches to pull a wipe from the plastic container for himself, opting to reach around her rather than in front of her and slapping her bare butt lightly along the way. “My sister’s kids come over a lot. You can never have enough of these things when kids are involved, they’re in every bathroom and the kitchen.”

"Fine,” she sighs dramatically, “I suppose that’s fair.”

He laughs as he wraps the wipe gingerly around himself to clean away anything that lingered behind when he removed the condom. When he’s finished he balls it up in one hand and holds that hand out to her, palm up. She just blinks at him for a second before she realizes he’s offering to take hers, then she folds it carefully and places it in his hand with a little smile of thanks. After throwing away the wipes, Chris moves to stand behind her, dropping his hands to her hips and pressing a kiss to her temple before pulling her back against him and resting his chin on the top of her head. “Would it be like, really pervy of me to tell you that you look really gorgeous right now?”

"You mean all debauched and sex-tousled?”

He scrunches his face apologetically. “Um, yes?”

She laughs and shrugs one shoulder. “I’ll take it.” Sure, she could take the compliment in a sort of gross way, but honestly? She sees it too. Well, she wouldn’t ever call herself ‘really gorgeous,’ but she sees what he’s saying - her skin is flushed just enough to give her a warm glow, her hair is just shy of being too wild, and her eyes are bright; overall, her joy is visible, and she definitely thinks she looks more beautiful than usual because of it. Having him standing right behind her, his thumbs rubbing circles over her hip bones, doesn’t hurt one bit either. He just grins at that and kisses her head again.

They stand that way in silence, looking at each other through the mirror, for several seconds longer than is comfortable before Chris starts shifting his weight from foot to foot. “So, you do look gorgeous, and I’m happy to look at you all day, but maybe we could move this party out of the bathroom?” He squeezes her hips a little and lifts one eyebrow. “I’m startin’ to get a little cold here,” he says solemnly, making her chuckle through her nose.

"That sounds great, but I really have to pee.” She tugs the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth as she looks back at him expectantly.

"Oh! Shit! Yeah, of course.” He takes a step back, patting her hip as he goes. “I’ll just,” he juts his thumb over his shoulder toward the door back to the bedroom and she has to giggle. Halfway out the door, though, he stops and darts back in just far enough to crane forward and kiss her cheek noisily, making her laugh outright.

A minute later she comes back into the bedroom to find him sitting at the foot of the bed in his boxer briefs. The sight nearly takes her breath away - his sheer beauty, the power of his body and the way he holds himself with such easy confidence, the way he manages to look so incredibly strong yet gentle, careful, like she now knows him to be, at the same time - and she moves her gaze around the room to distract herself from the overwhelming clenching feeling in her chest. She’s a little afraid that if she doesn’t, she might say something stupid. One of the first things she sees is his discarded tshirt, just a couple steps in front of her, and she moves to pick it up. 

“So,” he says as she bends and reaches for the shirt, and when she looks over her shoulder at him he’s smirking, “you brought condoms.”

"Yep.” She sweeps the shirt off the floor with a flourish and pulls it over her head. “I’m a 21st century woman with needs and desires that I am not ashamed of.” She wiggles her eyebrows at him with a grin and makes her way toward the bed.

"See, I can tell you’re joking right now, but if you weren’t, that would be a totally legit, reasonable answer.” He spreads his legs so she can stand between them and curls his hands around the backs of her thighs when she does. “Also, I know I said you looked really gorgeous before, and I meant it, but Jesus, this might be even better.” His hands slide up her legs until just his thumbs slip under the hem of the shirt, so high on her thighs that his index fingers run along the creases at the bottom of her ass. 

“Yeah?” she asks, lifting her hands to his shoulders and tracing her thumbs along his collarbones. “You like me in your clothes?”

"Sweetheart, you feel free to raid my closet _any_ time.”

She laughs as she turns to drop onto the bed, letting both of her legs drape over one of his when she sits, her feet hanging down between his calves. His hands curl over the top of the leg closest to his body, kneading and massaging the muscles in her thigh. “Just so you know, about the condoms,” she’s pretty sure he’s satisfied with the answer she already gave, but it’s just in her nature to over-explain things. Some of that no doubt comes from being a teacher and having to come up with no less than three ways (and often more than that) to explain anything in order to make sure she’s gotten through to her whole audience. Some of it, though, is more an anxiety thing, this nagging feeling she’s had her whole life that she’s giving people the wrong impression, not conveying what she really means, offending someone or hurting their feelings, which usually leads to backtracking and over-explaining (which kind of ruins the effect of sarcasm and jokes, but oh well). “I wasn’t exactly planning to come up here and try to seduce you or anything -”

“Right, because you had to try so hard,” he levels her with an unamused smirk and she just rolls her eyes. 

"- _but_ ,” she continues as if he hadn’t interrupted, “I knew there was a possibility we’d end up here, and while I definitely trust you, I just don’t feel that a woman should leave protection totally up to her partner to take care of, for a lot of reasons. And I’m also on the pill,” she wants him to know that, because she’d kind of like to have a conversation in the near future, if this is going to continue, about sexual history and health and even getting tested, because as great as this first time was, she can’t help but imagine how incredible it could be with _nothing_ between them. (She knows she’s clean, because she got tested after she and her last boyfriend broke up at the start of the year when she found out hers wasn’t the only well he’d been dipping his pen into, and she hasn’t been with anyone since, but she’s more than willing to do it again if he wants her to.) “But, yeah. I just thought it was best to be prepared.”

"Hey, you’ll get no complaints from me on that. And I think, between the ones you brought, and the brand new box in my own night stand for the exact same reasons,” he widens his eyes comically and sticks his tongue out a little, “we ought to be good for the week. In fact,” he leans in and nips at her neck just below her ear, “I’m very intrigued by your _just for fun_ collection _._ ” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and she fights back the urge to laugh, choosing to play dumb instead.

“Yeah, you know,” her hand comes up to rest along the line of his jaw and she runs her thumb over his bottom lip, “I’m kind of dying to see how you look in day-glo pink.”

He narrows his eyes at her when he says, “I mean, that’s not _exactly_ what I had in mind, but I won’t say no to that either, I guess.”

She pretends to be confused for a second then says, “Ohhhh,” and slaps both palms on his shoulders, “you mean the flavored ones.” His pupils dilate momentarily as she watches. “Yeah, those didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but I figured what the hell.”

“I - they didn’t make sense?”

“No, I mean, why does something need to taste like strawberries unless I’m going to put it -” she stops abruptly, even going so far as to gasp and make her eyes big and round. “You want me to …” she draws out the word and trails off at the end of it, looking deliberately down at his lap then back up to his eyes as she licks her lips.

“I, uh, well,” he’s downright sputtering and it’s absolutely adorable, “you don’t, I mean, I wouldn’t ask you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with, it’s just -” He only stops rambling because she’s giggling so hard she can’t keep her whole body from shaking. His eyes close and his chin drops to his chest. After a heavy sigh, he looks up at her from under his brow. “Like I said, nothing but trouble.” Before she can answer, he’s turning and lunging, his hands grabbing at her waist as he tackles her back onto the mattress. His fingers fly over her sides, making her squirm and shriek, and finally, when she’s almost completely out of breath, he drops to his side next to her, his head propped in his hand where his elbow rests on the mattress. 

For a few seconds they just lay like that while she catches her breath and he watches her, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. Finally, she blows out a long breath and reaches with the hand closest to him to run her fingertips over his beard, her other hand splayed across her stomach. “This is fun.”

“The sex?” He quirks one eyebrow high on his forehead. “I should hope so.”

She rolls her eyes. “No. Well, yes, definitely.” A grin tugs at his lips and he nudges her leg with his knee so that it rolls inward then falls open toward him. “But just all of it, all of this, you. You make me laugh,” she flattens her palm softly against his cheek, “and more importantly, you make me smile, a lot.”

Chris feels his heart flutter at that, mostly because not only is that exactly how she makes him feel, it’s also everything he would hope he’s doing for her. It also creates new questions, though, primarily thanks to her use of the word ‘fun.’ He’s definitely having fun too, no doubt about that. He’s enjoyed every second he’s gotten to spend with her, from that first time she’d been in Boston to their day-date in D.C. to every moment since he picked her up from the airport (clothed and otherwise), but he can’t help but wonder just how much he should read into that specific word choice. “I’m glad,” he tells her, reaching over to close his hand over hers on her stomach and turning his face into her palm to press a kiss to it. Then he asks, turning just far enough so that his words won’t be muffled, “Is it _just_ fun, for you?”

Her eyes widen for a second and he worries that he’s crossed a line. He’d been so worried about not moving things along too quickly on the sexual front, but maybe he’s done just that on a more emotional one. But then her face softens and she scratches her nails lightly through his beard and she shakes her head almost imperceptibly. “Chris,” she almost whispers, “I wouldn’t have flown a thousand miles to spend a week in your home if it was _just fun_. I mean,” she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and he wants so badly to tease it out with his thumb, but he doesn’t, “if that’s what it is for you, I get it, and I’m not going to be upset with you or make things awkward, and the rest of the week will be just as fun as everything has been so far, but if you’re asking me if I would be happy if it was more than that, yeah, I would be. Is it,” her brow furrows and that’s almost harder for him to look at than the way she’d chewed on her lip, “is that what it is for you?”

He slides his hand off hers so that it rests just below it, just over her belly button, then moves it across her body until it’s curling around her hip. “I wouldn’t have _asked_ you to fly a thousand miles and stay a week with me in my home if it was _just fun_ .” Her smile lights up her whole face, which then leads to him mirroring her expression. Not kissing her isn’t even an option, at this point, so he drops the hand holding up his head and tucks it under her neck and leans over to press his lips to hers. It’s soft and gentle and sweet, and he swears he hears a sound come out of her that’s almost a purr. “So we’re in agreement then?” he asks against her lips, tracing her hairline with his thumb. “When we go out with Shanna and her boyfriend tonight I get to introduce _you_ as _my_ girlfriend?”

"I like the sound of that.”

“Done.” He presses his lips solidly against hers and pulls away with a _smack_ , pushing himself back up onto his elbow to watch his hand drift from her opposite hip across her lower abdomen and back toward himself, taking a sharp turn when he reaches her other hip and trailing downward toward the hem of his tshirt where it rests high on her thigh. As soon as he reaches bare skin he starts to trace patterns over her skin, stopping abruptly when he notices a dark red, almost purple, spot high on the inside of her thigh that he’s nearly positive wasn’t there before. He lets the pad of his middle finger just skim over it. “Shit, I did that, didn’t I?”

“Hmm?” She tears her eyes away from mapping the tattoos scattered across his torso and pushes herself up on her elbows to look down at what he’s talking about. “Oh,” she says when she sees the small, round bruise, “yeah, I guess you did.”

"Fuck. I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”

“No,” she says easily, shaking her head, “I mean, it might if you like, pressed on it, but it doesn’t right now.”

He huffs and moves his hand to just below the mark, framing it in the ‘V’ of his thumb and forefinger, almost like he’s guarding or protecting it. “Well, I’m still sorry.” He finally looks up from her leg to make eye contact. 

The look on his face, like he’s actually devastated by the wrong he _thinks_ he’s done, breaks her heart a little, and that’s just not okay, to go from what she’d just been feeling, what she’s pretty sure they’d _both_ been feeling, to this. She rolls over onto her side to face him, hiding the offending mark between her legs, and copies his posture with her bicep and elbow pressed into the mattress and her head resting on her fist. “Okay, here’s the deal, I really, truly don’t mind if you mark me,” he opens his mouth like he’s going to object, and she lifts her hand from where it hangs off her side and in front of her stomach to hold up a finger between them, causing him to snap his mouth shut, “as long as,” she keeps that same finger up and wiggles it at him, “it’s only ever when we’re happy, enjoying ourselves, making each other feel good, and,” she adds another finger, “they can be covered when I’m wearing normal clothes. This definitely meets both of those requirements.”

"Well, I can promise you that number one,” he reaches between them and pinches her first finger between his own thumb and forefinger, “will _never_ be an issue. Full stop on that one. That second one,” he moves his grip to her middle finger and one side of his mouth pulls down in a grimace, “you might have to keep me honest on.”

She chuckles and when he lets go of her hand she slips her fingers between his and tugs until he leans forward to within kissing range. “I can do that,” she tells him before leaning in and kissing him softly, a tease, really, with her tongue almost tickling at his top lip. When she breaks the kiss he’s nodding, but he still doesn’t look completely convinced, so she sighs and says, “Can I admit something?”

"Of course,” he looks so incredibly serious, “anything.”

“For the next few days, any time I see that mark, I’m going to remember what your mouth did right after making it.” She leans all the way in, pressing her cheek to his so that her lips are just in front of his ear. “And that is a very, _very_ pleasant memory.”

“Yeah?” His warm breath washes over her cheek and ear and it makes her shiver. She doesn’t say anything, just nods. “Well, any time you want a reenactment, just let me know.”

Chuckling, she pulls back just until she can see his face. “You better be careful what you wish for, you may not like how often I want to take you up on it.” She wiggles her eyebrows, but even as she jokes, her stomach flips at the thought of his head between her legs, his tongue and lips working magic.

"Hey,” his hand falls heavy on her hip and he pushes, rolling her onto her back, “it’s not like it’s a hardship. Those sounds you make, and your taste on my tongue? All day long, happily.” He slips his hand under the shirt she’s wearing to fit it into the curve of her waist and trace her bottom rib with his thumb as he leans down to kiss her, nipping gently at her bottom lip then sweeping his tongue through her mouth just once. Just as her hands curl around the outsides of his biceps, he pulls away, kissing her chin before settling back onto his side with a grin. “Although,” he plasters on his best faux-serious face when he says, “I _was_ thinking about suggesting a nap. At this exact moment, I mean.” He figures she must be tired. It’s not like she changed time zones or anything, but still, just the stress and hustle of air travel alone can be enough to be completely draining. And he certainly wouldn’t mind just lying here for a while with her close to him.

Oh god, a nap sounds amazing. It’s like she hadn’t realized that she was truly exhausted until he said it. She’d spent her morning rushing around at home convinced that she was forgetting something or was going to miss her flight, then had a way too short for comfort layover in Charlotte, which of course only added to the stress, then there was the excitement of seeing him once she got there, and the non-stop chatter as he drove them out of Boston and toward his hometown, the lovely house tour once they got there, and finally, what felt like a marathon of truly amazing sex. Between the immediate loss of all her stress the moment she saw him, the adrenaline rush of being with him again, and the physical activity since - yeah, now that he mentions it, she almost feels like she can barely keep her eyes open. “Mmmm,” his pupils dilate a little at her happy little hum, “I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be saying this if you hadn’t just gotten me off four times, but yeah, a nap actually sounds like the better option at the moment.”

He laughs. “Don’t worry, you can have more of the other later.”

“Deal. I do want to take a shower before we go meet up with Shanna though.”

"Yeah, I should do the same. We’ve got a few hours before then. I doubt I’ll sleep more than an hour, but I can go grab my phone to set an alarm if you want?” He’s already in the process of pushing himself up to the head of the bed, so he stops, his body propped halfway up on his hands. She just shakes her head and rolls over onto her belly to push onto her hands and knees and crawl up the bed that way. Grinning, he pushes himself the rest of the way up the bed and drops onto his back, his arm out wide at his side for her to curl under if she wants. “You want big spoon, little spoon, or something else?” he asks as she lowers herself onto her stomach, looking over at him from her position slightly pushed up on her elbows and forearms.

“Little spoon,” she says sweetly, and he rolls onto his side facing her. She pushes herself so that she rolls back into him, and he immediately wraps his top arm around her waist, positioning the bottom one so that his bicep fits under her neck, in the gap between her shoulder and the pillow, and he can bend his forearm down to slot his fingers between hers on top of the mattress. 

She pulls her legs up toward her chest and he tucks his own behind them, the soft, smooth skin on the backs of her thighs warm against the front of his own. He nuzzles into the back of her neck, pushing her hair aside with his nose until he can press his lips to bare skin. “While we’re on the topic of sleeping,” and okay, maybe that’s a _bit_ of a stretch, but he wants to go ahead and say this now, so that if it’s something she needs time to think about, she has it, “I don’t know if you wanted the guest room for reasons related to what just happened, or just because you wanted your own space, but if it was the former, and it’s not relevant anymore, you’re more than welcome to join me in my room starting tonight instead of sleeping in here alone.”

"And if it’s the latter?” With the hand not locked with his, she traces circles over the back of his free hand where it’s pressed to her stomach.

"Then I’ll sneak in here whenever you’ll have me, and slip back to sleep in my own room after.” He keeps his voice intentionally light; he doesn’t want her to be able to hear the twinge of disappointment he feels at the thought that he’s not going to get this - her body pressed tight to his, her smell surrounding him as he drifts off to sleep, the knowledge that she’s comfortable sharing it with him - beyond this nap. “Like horny teenagers,” he adds as a joke, for good measure.

She giggles and he smiles and kisses the back of her neck again. “And what if,” her fingers drift from the back of his hand higher up his forearm, “I really do want to share your bed, but I want to keep my stuff in here just so I don’t feel like I’m taking over your space?”

“Fuck yeah,” she laughs again, “go for it. I mean, just to be clear, you’re not going to be in the way, at all, but if it makes you feel better to have a space that feels like yours, then consider this your dressing room during the day and come keep me company at night.”

"Doesn’t Dodger sleep with you?”

"He doesn’t have to.”

She slaps the back of his hand. “Yes he does. Will it bother him if I’m there?”

Okay, that’s a huge relief, actually, because even as he offered it, the idea of kicking Dodger out of bed pained him (and the idea that Dodger might be a problem for her was a _huge_ problem for him), so he’s really, really glad that’s not what she was getting at. “Not at all. You bribed your way into his heart the second you walked in with that toy.” She’d gotten down on the floor with him almost as soon as they’d walked in and pulled a puzzle toy filled with treats out of her suitcase after asking if he was okay with it. That toy was probably the only reason they’d been able to sneak off to the bedroom as easily as they had, since Dodger was still hiding with it under the desk trying to get to the snacks inside when Chris had carried her out of the living room. “He’ll be _almost_ as happy to have you there as I will.”

She feels herself blushing. She knows it’s silly to feel this proud over getting the stamp of approval from a dog, but it’s Chris, and that dog means more to him than anything. (And then there’s the fact that he’s just a truly precious dog and she’d been almost as excited to meet him as she was to see Chris again.) “Then yes, please, I would much rather sleep in there with you.” As if to drive the point home, she wiggles a little farther back into his embrace.

The way his arm tightens around her and his face presses a little closer to her neck are completely involuntary, and her little sigh tells him that was response enough to what she just said, so he closes his eyes, breathes her in, and lets himself drift off, more than content in the knowledge that he gets to do this for a whole week.


End file.
